


Contingencies

by ayatsujik



Series: The Exorcist Chronicles [4]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 22:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12757584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayatsujik/pseuds/ayatsujik
Summary: Natori, injured after an exorcist job, stops by Yorishima's place for some first aid and a Talk about Natsume.





	Contingencies

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Hakozaki mansion arc and Toukanya chapter (manga #80). Vaguely implied m/m, for those so inclined.

Amasawa-san, who'd previously engaged him over the case of the scarecrow brooms, had referred him to a neighbour whose deer hunting grounds were being ravaged by an intruder. Initially the man had blamed wolves, but weeks of investigation had yielded nothing in the way of animal predators. At which point, recalling certain stories from his grandfather, he'd begun to suspect that it might be the work of youkai.

Natori confirmed this suspicion as unhappy fact. Then he went forth to take countermeasures. He succeeded, but at cost to himself: his target had fangs and moved like lightning. He jumped away seconds too late from a strike, and it inflicted a vicious bite on his left calf. Still he managed to seal the creature, which Sasago and Urihime drove into the magic circle for him to exorcise. He dropped to his knees as soon as it was over.

His leg was badly swollen, suggesting the youkai's fangs had been poisonous. His three shiki, in anxious silence, ministered to him as best they could. Sasago fetched spring water to clean the wound. Urihime helped him roll up his trouser leg and use his handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. Hiiragi, meanwhile, sought out the berries of a nearby akazasa tree and crushed them into a rough, crimson salve, a staple of spirit remedies. Thanks to their efforts, the swelling receded enough for him to walk, but only as a laboured limp. The pain remained fierce.

His every step hurt. Evening was deepening, and he was still relatively far out in the forest. Even supported by Hiiragi, he had the distinct sense that he wouldn't make it back to the station. Even if he did, he could hardly let ordinary people see him in his current condition. 

Natori, his leg throbbing, considered his options. In the warmer seasons he would have simply camped outside and waited for the poison's effects to fade. He'd done that before, when exorcist jobs had made him miss the last train home, trusting his shiki to guard him against curious or vengeful youkai. But now it was almost winter, and his coat couldn't completely ward off the chill of impending nightfall. On top of that, he was starting to feel light-headed. Given this, what else could he do?

He smiled wryly as the answer came to him. There was a place he'd already thought of stopping by tonight. He'd realised, when doing preliminary investigations, that the assignment was in its vicinity. If he could endure another 20 minutes or so of walking, he would get there. To the house of the person he'd last seen, several months ago, in Natsume's company.

"Hiiragi, Sasago, Urihime," he said, speaking slowly through the pain. "Follow me. There's someone not too far from here who'll probably help." 

"You should rest first, nushi-sama," Urihime protested.

"We need to get there before dark," Natori pointed out. "Let's make haste."

He focused on putting each foot forward, Hiiragi's arm around his back. He was sweating despite the cold breeze, his leg a burning weight. It occurred to him that perhaps Matoba's interpretation of his birthmark's significance was right, after all. 

Years ago Seiji had remarked, coolly and casually, that the lizard's refusal to visit his left leg meant he might eventually lose it. Natori hadn't been offended by his apparent lack of concern. By then he'd heard about the similar fate that awaited Seiji's left eye, if his clan's efforts to protect him failed. Potential sacrifices seemed par for the course in this business. 

/Just a hypothesis, Shuuichi-san./ A shrug, followed by a faint smile. /Some workings of youkai are beyond human ken, after all./

Natori laughed to himself, bitterly, at the prospect of Matoba being right. And what, then, if so? Questions surged up in a tide of fear about how a missing leg would impact his work, the rest of his life. He fought them down. Panicking would do no good, right now. It was a bite, not an amputation. It could be treated. He still had things to do. Natsume - 

Natsume, he thought, something twisting in his heart. 

Thank goodness he wasn't here. Natori pictured his face, the anxiety and sadness that would have been etched over its delicate lines. Relief mingled with resolve: seeing Natsume in this state was out of the question. He would make it.

After what seemed an eternity, Sasago, who had gone on first, came back to report that there were spirit barriers not far ahead, marking their destination. Natori nodded, and they pressed on. Soon he found himself struggling up the slope leading to the house, breathing heavily. His limbs were leaden, his senses hazy. 

Light glowed out from the gloom of almost-night. 

"What the hell are you doing here so late?"

A tall figure, holding a lantern, was silhouetted amongst the trees. His face was wreathed in shadow, but his brusque voice identified him instantly to Natori's ears.

"Yorishima-san," he rasped. And then he collapsed, barely hearing Yorishima's shout of alarm. Hiiragi staggered under his weight as the other two shiki swooped down to hold him up. 

"Absolutely nothing but trouble, every time," Yorishima muttered. But his brow was creased with concern. "Hurry up and bring him in."  
  
  
*

  
When Natori came to, he found himself lying on a futon in Yorishima's living room. He felt the cool dampness of a cloth on his forehead; he must have been feverish. A nearby brazier, squat and dark, radiated warmth. The pain in his leg had faded to a dull ache, and the fog in his head had lifted. His hat and neatly folded coat, along with his glasses, lay beside the pillow.  

"Nushi-sama," Hiiragi said. She and her fellow shiki were hovering around the futon, gazing down at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he croaked, and cleared his throat. "Much better. Good work, all of you. You can stand down now." 

Sasago and Urihime bowed, vanishing in two puffs of air. Hiiragi lingered. He gave her a small smile, and nodded. "You too."

She finally dismissed herself, still with an aura of manifest reluctance. 

Natori sat up, removing the cloth from his forehead. It turned out to be his handkerchief, cleaned of blood. His trouser leg was still rolled up, and a fresh bandage had been tied over the wound. A glance at his watch showed that several hours had passed.  

Some distance away, Yorishima was seated cross-legged at one end of the low table, in his usual dark kimono and sling. He was flipping through a book with his free hand. The table's other end held a cast-iron pot of tea, an earthenware cup, and a matching plate with two rice balls.

"Took you long enough," Yorishima said, not looking up from his reading. "Luckily for you, your shiki are good at first aid and explaining things. I put a stronger ointment on the wound and did a healing spell to neutralise the rest of the poison. You should be fine."

"I'm in your debt," Natori said, his voice low. He bowed to him. "Thank you, Yorishima-san, and my apologies for imposing on you like this. I'll find a way to repay you."

"Hah," Yorishima sniffed. "As if I'd get my hopes up about that. If you really want to thank me, you brat, just leave me in peace once and for all."

"I'll think about it," Natori smiled. "In the meantime, may I partake of the refreshments you've so kindly prepared?"

The only reply was a snort. Natori hadn't expected anything else, and he carefully stood up, moving over to sit at the table. He poured himself a steaming cup of green tea and turned to the food. It tasted intensely delicious. He'd only had a light lunch; the salt of the rice and the sharp tang of pickled plum reminded him he was famished. 

Yorishima, seated opposite, observed him lick stray grains of rice off his fingers. A small, reptilian shadow wriggled down his neck, flickering across his collarbone and into his shirt.

Natori wiped his hands with his still-damp handkerchief, and reached for his tea.

"How is that boy who calls you his friend?" Yorishima asked, as he took a sip. 

Natori put his cup down, and raised a brow. "You mean Natsume?" 

"Is there anyone else who'd call you their friend?" Yorishima scowled at him.

"Always so harsh, Yorishima-san," Natori said, sighing in affected sorrow. "Natsume is fine, as far as I know. I haven't seen him for a few weeks."

Yorishima closed his book, laying it on the table. Natori unrolled his trouser leg, stiff with dried blood.

"Natori," Yorishima said at last. "What exactly is that boy to you?"

Natori didn't respond. 

"Whatever he thinks of you, it really isn't at all like you to traipse around with children. Even children as strange as he is. Are you two -"

"He's just important to me," Natori interrupted, his voice quiet. "It's difficult to explain. He's special. And...there are ways in which he's more of an adult than I am."

"I can see you'd have to tell yourself that," Yorishima coolly replied. 

Natori made no reply. Yorishima gave him a long, hard look. 

"Are you going to take responsibility for what might happen if your enemies hear about him?"

"Your concern is deeply appreciated, Yorishima-san," Natori said dryly. "To be frank, I don't know what I can do, really. Natsume does what he wants to, whether I like it or not. He always gets caught up in things that make my blood run cold, and I just try to help. To the extent of my abilities. I'm constantly worrying about him."

Yorishima cracked a smile, sudden and slight. "You're sounding less and less like yourself." He shook his head. 

"How old is the boy?"

"Sixteen, almost seventeen."

"Not as young as I thought, but you're starting younger and younger, you brats are," Yorishima muttered, half to himself.

"He's not that much younger than I was when I first met you," Natori said, gazing at him. 

They locked eyes. Silence descended in the space between them, freighted with memory.

Yorishima looked away first.

"Your business is your own," he said curtly. "You'd better go, if you're planning on taking the train back."

Natori nodded, getting to his feet. "I won't forget your help, Yorishima-san."

He shrugged on his coat, and donned his hat and glasses. Yorishima, watching him, spoke again.  

"If you're involved with that boy, Matoba's going to interfere. If he hasn't already. You'll want to watch out."

"I'm very aware of that," Natori said quietly. "And as I mentioned last time, if you hear any news about a 'Reiko' or a 'Yuujincho', I'd appreciate it if you let me know."

"Again, I'm not obliged to tell you anything," Yorishima replied shortly. "Off with you, and don't come back."

Outdoors, it had turned pitch-dark. Yorishima gave Natori one of the long cedar torches he kept for emergencies, which he lit with a fire spell. Natori bowed, taking it, and turned to leave, his figure illuminated by wavering flamelight. 

Yorishima, with furrowed brow, watched him depart. Then he slid the door shut.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel: [Contingencies II](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12969717).
> 
> For the how-they-met story, see section II of [Three Takes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12577260).


End file.
